Eleanor and Lady Liberty
by FayulWhale
Summary: Eleanor has never known freedom. What is she really? Inside is she a monster or savior? A story about adaptation to Andrew Ryan's despised "surface" through the eyes of Lamb and other characters.
1. The Sun's Emancipation

**1.) A warm hello to whoever might be reading this! I am glad that you have picked up on reading my small contribution to Bioshock lore. I'll try to show you a good time, so please have faith in my abilities.**

**2.) I'm gonna be frank here, this is the first time i've tried my hand at writing a story like this. But there's a first for everything!**

**3.) If you do happen to read this story, PLEASE I beg you! Review the story. It doesn't matter if you're a rabid fan or a "doubter." I want to hear your opinion on my writing. And lastly thank you!**

**ACT 1 - Scene 1**

"And then.. The Rapture Dream was over.."

Eleanor leaned her adolescent frame against the railing of a grimy deck overlooking the Atlantic. As the blazing sun arose from the watery horizon, a sudden sense of euphoria came over her. The Rapture nightmare was finally at its end.  
>She cupped her hands to form a cone and yelled at the sun. "Nice to finally meet you!"<br>Delta's suit and body remained motionless in silent agreement as Eleanor began to pace the metallic deck with a pouting lip.

"Why, I'm not sure exactly what mother had in mind for me, but it sure doesn't involve that hole of damnation in the sea anymore!"

She reached her hand down into the round neck cuff of her Big Sister suit and grasped at the Ethel Rune necklace her mom had bestowed upon her. In a blur of raven black hair and fury she ripped it off the chain around her neck and chucked it as hard as she could over the gaping ocean.  
>The green stone skid across the waves a few times before finally hitting the immense Rapture column protruding out of the sea.<p>

With her sharp dark blue eyes, she observed as the symbol shattered into pieces and dispersed into the tumultuous current. "Bloody hell mother! I'm leaving you and your goddamned dream of Metamorphosis." She spat into the ocean and began pacing the deck again.

With each step, she felt the excitement and sudden adrenaline running through her chest. Slowly, she began to realize what her own words meant.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the screech of metal against metal. She swirled around and located the noise coming from the steel door with a sealing wheel contraption...Probably some Leadhead splicer hitting it haplessly with a metal pipe.

"That splicer is one of many, he cannot be saved." She recited silently to herself in self-assurance. But the moment the words left her lips, immediately, she knew it wasn't true. Could they be saved after all? Perhaps the splicer desired freedom and the rays of the sun as well.

Realization shot through her body like a crossbow bolt. She keeled over as a wave of nausea rolled over her. She didn't want to think about it, the task at hand.. to be the savior to every damned soul in Rapture. So this was what it was like to be her mother. It could drive anyone crazy.

She grit her teeth. Opening the door would initiate the incredulous task of saving a half a thousand souls.. On the other hand she could abandon them and escape into the ocean abyss...

But the gut-wrenching emotion was too familiar. It was a sinister concoction of obligation coupled with the crippling weight of guilt. She was Atlas, carrying the world on her shoulders. She was designed for this: _she had to share her freedom._

"Awww is anyone out there?" A muffled voice called from the other side.  
>"I just want to talk!" it continued.<br>Eleanor couldn't tell if the voice was even human.

She approached the door and wiped her hand across its wet glossy surface. After reaching the wheel, she gripped it with white knuckles and began to turn it. The metal screeched in protest as Eleanor used her super-human strength to free the inhabitant.

"I knew it! Someone's out there! Save me!"  
>"Shut up and push!"<br>The contrast between the splicer's gargle and Eleanor's clear voice was haunting. A genetically perfect girl blessed with the sun on one side and a living corpse shut within hell on the other.

The door was sealed shut by saltwater and rusted bolts. And no amount of pulling or grunting by both sides could rip it open. But Eleanor was not one to be deterred.  
>"Stand back!" She warned as she furrowed her brow.<p>

Raising a palm into the air, small bits and pieces of stray debris began to fly around her fingers like small planets. She could feel the familiar electric blue eve coursing through her veins. Her hand folded into a fist.

_I am... Eleanor Lamb: savior of the underwater metropolis Rapture._

She braced herself before throwing her consciousness towards the metal door and forcibly punching her hand through the air. The door punctured inwards as Eleanor's telekinesis jab broke the handles off the metal wheel. The splicer moaned in fear behind it, presumably a safe distance away. Under her feet Eleanor could feel the water sloshing with the momentum of her attack.

_Again._

She furiously mashed at the door with an invisible fist until the rusted borders gave way. Eventually, the poor entrance hung on by the edges of a metallic thread. She paused and waited for a response from the splicer. But only a dark silence and the sound of rhythmic waves lapping the dock hung in the ocean air. Eleanor placed a metal boot on the completely demolished door and kicked it in.

**What did you think? I'm planning on moving this story in a direction where Eleanor ends up in America. Suggestions, comments, and any type of review is welcome. Please!**

**The issue of Delta and the Little Sisters, and Sofia Lamb will be addressed, but probably not the latter in a large extent. I've read other bioshock fanfics and didn't enjoy the ones where Sofia got involved. I always thought she was a "dead" character after the game ended.**


	2. Two Worms in the Big Apple

**I'm sorry if this wasn't the chapter you were expecting.  
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**It involves introducing two new characters who are not directly involved in the Bioshock character list. **

**I'm going for a double cliffhanger format. I've read books where authors had a lot of success with this in the past. **

**Thanks for swinging by and giving my story a chance! And again. Please REVIEW the story. It motivates me to write. **

**Special thanks to MindTeller and DoWeKnow for subscribing! And whoever anonymously reviewed my 1st chapter. **

Ch 2 Two Worms in the Big Apple

_July 3, 1969_

Gunny sat at the nearby bar to catch his breath. Around him, his band members stared at his sweating face in amusement.

"The big apple ain't a place for old men."  
>His younger friends burst out in laughter. They were the ones who had the idea to take the break.<br>One of them called out. "Then you should find a smaller apple."  
>The youth thought for a while. "Like New Jersey!"<br>More laughter. This time it was Gunny's turn to smile.

The band had been playing for hours now and it was payday. Every member was in high spirits. Everybody received pay, that is, except for Gunny. In fact, he was their boss. He owned the place.  
>"Mr. Sinatra would be damn lucky to swing with you boys<em>." <em>he said as while he recalled in nostalgia his younger days. He waved his hand to send the youths on their way. Without their presence, he could look like a tired old man again. After all, the Saxophone was getting damned heavy in his right arm.  
>It was the typical evening in the Lou La Bonte's Blue, an old Jazz bar on the highlight-bright streets of night time New York.<p>

Gunny gazed out the jaded windows and watched the yuppies drive around with their girlfriends, shouting and pointing here and there at the awe-inspiring kaleidoscope of lights. "Fluorescent adolescents." he speculated silently as he sat alone amongst several regular customers making small chat.

He casually glanced down at the silver watch on his thick wrist. A birthday present from his nephew. The white metal formed an eye-catching band on his dark cacao complexion. The watch's hands had been turning for at least a couple years now. It was 11:29 P.M. which meant it wouldn't be long before _he _showed up. Exactly on time and at exactly the same place; at the bar Gunny sat at now.

It was smoke Sunday. No wonder he was still coughing. The bar was thick and hazy with the sweet scent of Indian tobacco and in the background an old phonograph played a suave reggae beat. Why hadn't he banned this weekly holiday yet?  
>Gunny reclined in his wooden chair and anchored his feet under the table to balance himself. He whispered his thoughts out loud."Now this.. Is the life."<br>Behind him, he heard a voice chime in response.

"You're crazy old man. This place is gonna ruin my suit."  
>"You're late, yuppie. About two minutes actually. It doesn't suit you."<br>Gunny turned his head and frowned at the new arrival in mock disappointment.  
>"Hoh! That hurts old man. First time we've met in weeks and that's how you greet me? Kinda shabby even for you if I say so myself!" The stranger chuckled and extended his hand.<br>"Hah! It's not my fault you're afraid of the pretty gals that come here." Gunny laughed in camaraderie as he shook his friend's hand. "It's nice to see you again, Lenny."

Standing next to the table, leaning against it with an elbow, Lenny produced a cigarette from his pinstriped suit lapel.  
>"And it's good to be back, old gun. Got a light?"<br>"You know I always do. Just for you actually." Gunny carried a zippo in his pocket. He didn't smoke, but he kept one just in case a customer forgot his matches.

Lenny sat down next to Gunny. With his back straight, which was a rare sight, he was a half-foot taller than Gunny albeit half his weight.  
>"You wouldn't believe where the higher-ups sent me last week."<br>"Really now, would you care to explain where the higher-ups sent you last week?"  
>Lenny laughed.<br>"You know I can't tell you that old man. It would give you a heart attack. And besides if I did, I'd be thrown in the electric chair for high treason." He rolled his eyes up and stuck out his tongue in mock electric paralysis.  
>"Not sure about Nixon, but I don't think President Kennedy would have given you capital punishment. Maybe an much needed education though." They both laughed.<br>"May he rest in peace. He was an able president. The politicians in Moscow are furious about the 'capitalist pigs' putting their flag on the moon first." Lenny winked.  
>"You tap-danced backstage of the iron curtain I see." Gunny flagged down the bartender and ordered two cases of liquor.<br>"I guess no more questions right?"  
>"Right. Or I'd have to kill you."<br>Gunny chuckled. "Right."

The two men talked late into the night. Conversation topics jumped from cigar brands, to the Marilyn Monroe death conspiracy, to women from Asia, to the atrocities of the Vietnam war, and finally to the sudden strange disappearance of thousands of the world's finest minds and well-rounded athletes about two decade ago.

Gunny inquired casually, "What was that about? Did we ever find any leads where those young men and women went?"  
>"Well, rumors say that they all went to some utopian laboratory in Luxembourg, where they're researching how to solve all the problems in the world."<p>

Lenny wished it were true. In truth, rotting dead bodies were turning up all over the world. Modern forensics and dental identification had designated several of the corpses to be the bodies of the influential people who disappeared suddenly decades ago. He had flipped through the classified photographs and autopsy notes. The faces of each dead individual were frozen or morphed into expressions of terror and pain. Autopsies had revealed each victim to have an indescribable amount of genetic mutation and tumor occurrence. The brilliant young men and women had been grossly murdered in some obscure corner of the planet... or was it self destruction?

Gunny glanced at his watch again while his friend was lost in his thoughts. Almost midnight. The regulars had already left a long time ago.  
>After all, tomorrow was Independence Day, and everyone had left early in preparation of the inevitable protest against the bloody Vietnam war.<br>The only ones left in the bar were Gunny, Lenny, and a few casual late-night customers.

A midnight black sedan parked next to the Lou La Bonte.  
>The front passenger seat window was darkened and the other three were out of Gunny's vantage of sight. He could have sworn seeing the outline of a face contorted in a hysterical smirk lurking behind the single window.<p>

Something was going awry and Gunny's instincts screamed escape.  
>Terror rose to his throat as the driver of the black sedan opened the car door and slowly walked up to the entrance.<br>He glanced at his only ally. "You should pack away your Saxophone." Lenny intoned.  
>Gunny nodded grimly, staring at his weathered hands as he got up and calmly packed the instrument into its resting place under the bar.<p>

The soothing music coming from the old phonograph stopped in a stringent screech. Only a gravelly static remained as the record turned on its axle. One of the late night customers had lifted the needle from its selection.

Gunny recognized the threat. From behind the bar, he discreetly removed an Uzi .32 caliber SMG and slid it into his inner jacket pocket. The safety was clicked off.  
>Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lenny casually unbuttoning his pinstripe suit to reveal a gray Washington D.C. shirt. Under the wings of the tweed jacket, dual semi-automatic pistols gleamed threateningly.<p>

The two old friends glanced at each other in silent understanding. Gunny was behind the bar while Lenny remained sitting in the chair, although he was starting to stand now.

The driver of the black sedan opened the door and the bell attached to the foyer rang. He was a tall Caucasian man wearing a three piece suit with a bowling hat. He had snake's slits for eyes.  
>"We're closed." Gunny intoned.<br>"The door wasn't."  
>"We're closed." Gunny repeated sternly. "Come back tomorrow. We open at two in the afternoon."<br>"It looks to me that it's still happy time in here. You sure are a funny n****r to refuse easy customers."  
>The man gestured at Lenny's cup of whiskey filled to the brim.<br>"We're just here to settle some business. It'll be quick." The man smiled to himself as if appreciating a private joke.  
>Gunny's face turned to stone. "Then let's settle it. After all, it won't take long."<p>

The man was taken aback and hesitated before walking towards the large bar window overlooking New York. He grabbed the curtain and slowly slid it over the vista. Moments later, the door entrance rang three more times as two henchmen and an obvious kingpin walked into the bar.

The "casual customers" suddenly looked up from their drinks and newspapers and pulled out pistols in unison. One of them wielded a double-barreled shotgun.  
>The weapons were pointed straight at Gunny and Lenny.<br>The henchmen carried rifles and were on both sides of the kingpin in a "V" formation. Gun-metal gleamed like stars in the bright bar light.  
>The assault had been carefully planned.<p>

Gunny quickly wondered if they knew his friend was a veteran government field agent. Or if they were aware of the highly combustible liquor sitting in Lenny's cup.

The Kingpin had a long scar running from the top of his right eye to his left cheek. He had been lucky because whatever had made it missed his eyes. On his broad shoulders, the villain wore a velvet red vest over a white undershirt. His obvious attempt to look elegant ludicrously resembled a waiter from a five-star restaurant. He wielded a jet-black pistol.  
>Slowly the boss extended his hand to the tall man, who handed over a long military-grade silencer.<p>

But it wasn't used. Before attaching it, the Kingpin eagerly shot Lenny in the chest three times in a shower of bullets and noise.  
>By the third flash of the muzzle, Lenny had fallen backwards and slumped his bar chair. "Shit! You killed him!"<br>Gunny could see the pinstriped suit was dripping with fresh blood. The dusky smoke of expelled gunpowder hung in the air.

The Kingpin started howling like a maniac. His voice lowered in frequency and degenerated into a low, hysterical laugh. His chest heaved in and out as if in hyperventilation.  
>He barely managed to keep the pistol in his hand as his body shivered in insanity and elation.<p>

He was still giggling as he slowly twirled the silencer into his pistol and pointed it at Gunny.

**3rd chapter will follow Eleanor. Suggestions, corrections, a rabid fan or a despised doubter, please review my work!**

** I apologize for using a racist slur in this chapter, but I felt that it would be harder to relay the animosity between the the tall white man and Gunny without it. And just for clarification, Lenny is white. I'm not sure what kind of race he'll come off as, but I'm going for Italian.  
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	3. The Basement Genesis

**1.) I apologize for the ridiculously late chapter. I forgot about it in the din of schoolwork and AP exams. Ah well, here it is resumed. From here on out, I'll try to output work on a consistent schedule. **

THE METALLIC door fell onto the steel deck. Its noise reminded Eleanor of the time she dropped a tin can of corned beef on the linoleum floor. It was the horrible sound of clacking metal and sliding steel.

How old was she at the time? Seven? Thirteen? No, she had lived with blessed Gracie at thirteen. Was it twelve then? Oh, the orphanage was it then?... she didn't remember that either. Only Gil's experiments and the voice recorders to which he chattered at if any progress was made. His long syringes were filled with playful colors.

Many a night young Eleanor tried to sleep under one of the tiny blankets at the Little Sister orphanage listening as the wall whispered to her.  
>"You're a monster. A monster. A monster. A monster."<br>During those nights she could have sworn feeling the slug in her body turn over ever so slightly.

Life seemed like a blur as if she had spent 17 years in a chrysalis looking out of a pale, translucent protein shell. That was her mother's favorite word. In retrospect, Sofia used it overbearingly.  
>Chrysalis this and chrysalis that. She said it to all of the patients who visited her room in Eleanor's apartment. It was a great shame she couldn't actually couldn't get a nickel for every time the word was uttered.<p>

Somehow her mother had managed to sneak the word into every other sentence spoken through her lying teeth.  
>"Your pain is but a phase. You are in transition to something greater. Like a butterfly in a <strong>chrysalis<strong>!"  
>"Mr. Ryan will surely see the light! If he does not come out of his <strong>chrysalis, <strong>I will crack it open for him."  
>"In ethical psychiatry, I must account for society's individuals and help them emerge from the mind's selfish <strong>chrysalis<strong>. A metamorphosis if you will..."

In the kitchen, Eleanor had picked up the tin can.  
>"Beef mother, what is it?"<br>She hadn't even looked up from her book.  
>"Mother? My school teacher won't tell me. Mom?"<br>"It's from the surface Eleanor."  
>"The surface?"<br>"It's from a cow. The same animal that makes milk."  
>"Oh."<br>It was an animal from the surface. A place that she was taught to abhor from a very young age.  
>"Is it evil?"<br>Sofia had smiled.  
>"Everything is evil my dear Eleanor. That is what I try to fix in this world. Everything lives for itself. Give anything time and it will rot."<br>"Not honey mother."  
>Sofia had remained silent.<p>

The ocean air snapped Eleanor to attention. She picked up her glowing helmet and peered out into the dark void gaping before her small frame. In front of the entrance, she felt like a raggedy and helpless little sister again. The sun cast her shadow into the doorway and made the shape of a human figure surrounded by darkness.

Walking in, she could feel the touch of the pitch black on her face. A descending heaviness almost like black oil enveloped her, vanquishing the warmth of the sun. It smelled like nothing. Her metal boot made a resounding "clank!" on the steel floor. Slowly, she walked into the uninviting depths and allowed her helmet to remain casually in her arms.

She didn't want to walk through the entrance, to do so would violate a basic tenet of the primal instinct for survival. It would be much safer to return to the rays of the sun and dive down. From there she could find an elevator to the rest of Rapture. In fact, Eleanor was not even sure why she was walking into such an eerie hole. Perhaps it was just a gut intuition or maybe the effects of the excessive ADAM had finally caught up to her. Either way, the decision would have seemed quite insane to the typical human. But then again, she was not the typical human.

At once, Eleanor heard footsteps which were not her own. They began as a casual walking stride which could have, at one point in time, have been a gentleman's stroll through nature's Arcadia. It was curious for Eleanor that such a being should exist in the dark room. She was about to call out when the footsteps exploded into a full sprint. The noise echoed in the chamber and rapidly got approached Eleanor directly in front of her. It was a split second later when she was smashed from an incomprehensible direction. Eleanor went flying over the metal floor and crashed into a grimy wall.

The world spun in circles and a stabbing pain was now present in her side. The assailant had vanished. She propped herself up with her hand on the wound and grit her teeth. She tried to stand up, only to be crippled by bolts of pain in her rib cage. She could not help but think of the damage to her insides; the pain only got worse. Eleanor slumped and waited for the ADAM in her blood to regenerate the internal wounds. In the distance, something was rolling steadily away from her. She felt around for the Big Sister helmet. The protective raiment was missing.

Eleanor sighed and delicately cradled her body into a crevice next to the grimy wall. A few yards away, the man who had tackled Eleanor was writhing in electrified convulsions. Seeing him plainly out of the darkness reminded her of a fish flopping on land. She felt a paralyzing chill down her spine as electric snakes arced across her shoulders. The active Electric Flesh gene tonic was now cooling down in her DNA helixes.

"The messiah has arrived." Eleanor intoned with a sickly grin to the motionless splicer who had stopped convulsing.

"You." The splicer's voice cracked in the middle of the word.

"You can't leave! Save my family!" His head turned to the wrong direction.

"No they're gone and dead and you might've killed them."

"I didn't kill them! No no no! It wasn't me! No! Nooo!" The splicer sobbed in the midst of his cracking words. "You killed my family! You did it!" He sputtered and got to his feet. "It wasn't me! When you're dead you'll see! You will see!" The splicer screamed vehemently and charged Eleanor.

Once again, the noise resounded in the arches of the room. Sooner or later, it would attract other curious inhabitants. Eleanor wasn't suited for fighting or interrogation at the moment; the splicer's rebound had surprised her cornered mind. She would end this one quickly.

"I'm sorry." She whispered as she extended both hands. She aimed at her approaching target between interlocked thumbs. The threads of her raven hair blocked the line of vision to the splicer, but she wouldn't need to see him. The splicer's echoing steps reverberated through the chamber. Eleanor could sense the vision of his flashing eyes and the weight of his hatred boring into her mind. It was the curse of a condemned soul.

She braced for the recoil before blasting a wave of hot blue flame into the splicer's sprint. The slash of flame arced beautifully like a magnificent meteor. It was a divine saber which illuminated the room like a bullet passing through a gun's barrel. The vessel floated effortlessly and gigantically, searching for an unfortunate soul to alight upon.

In the next moment, the splicer was enveloped in a writhing fireball, flailing his arms and running aimlessly for a few agonizing seconds before collapsing on the ground as a charring corpse. The fire continued to rage on in the lifeless body, illuminating the entire room like a gruesome lamp.

She suddenly found herself in the middle of a steel room, its walls flickered with yellow light. Eleanor's shaky and interlocking hands cast the shadow of a phoenix onto the grimy surface.

The journey had just begun for Eleanor.

**1.) I actually wrote up a draft where Eleanor is taken to a fighters pit and brawls gladiator style with some mutant forms of Rapture inhabitants, but I felt that deviated too much from the original, "get her to America!" plot.**

**2.) Please write a review! It motivates me to write. If anything, comment on Eleanor's memory of Sofia and also the combat scenes. Thank you!**

**3.) I thank you if you're currently subscribed to the story, but it baffles me why the same people do not review it! Please do. :)  
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	4. Thousand Eyed Bugs

1.) If you were following this story earlier, I went into a lot more elaborate process of Eleanor preparing for her journey. I even put in a character who followed her out of Rapture, but I'm taking a new direction.

2.) She gets to America next chapter. Wow, I need to stick with the original plan better.

ELEANOR WAS watching the sun when she heard the "thunk" of an object hitting a wall. She woke up looking into the cracked ceiling of a dank and musty room while lying on a small bed. The sheets were splattered with drying blood.

She crinkled her nose and turned to face her outstretched arm. There, near her pale fingers lay several items of interest she had collected - with a bit of actual bloodshed - for the voyage. They lay in a neat pile next to the bed.

Lying on the ground was a large Atlas - the page with the Atlantic Ocean was ripped out and was extensively marked with Eleanor's rather sloppy handwriting.

There was Grace's old dusty suitcase which had been filled with the wardrobe of a regular topsider girl. No doubt, every article of clothing was out of date by decades. She didn't mind; Eleanor already knew that she had no real sense of fashion.

Lastly, there was sustenance for the trip. She could only gather about three days' worth of pep bars, potato chips, coffee, and alcohol. She had laughed hollowly at her situation, "Can I live without water? Delta did!" Eleanor had also tried to remember how Delta had eaten through his helmet, but she was only thoroughly confused by this.

Already the wounds of her journey had recovered with only a few hours' time. She launched herself from the bed and began to painstakingly compress the belongings into the austere suitcase.

Using her metal boot, she kicked open the door with zeal, "Here we go!" and was greeted by the gray flash of pipes and rusting pistols.

A squad of sea-logged splicers shuffled uneasily and flourished their weapons. The green copper balcony sagged with the sheer pounds of mutated flesh heaps standing on it.

There was an awkward silence and the quizzical gaze of Eleanor's eyes until one particularly ugly one wailed, "She took my camera!"

Eleanor smirked as she returned reflexively, "Oh hey ugly, you mean this beautiful piece of work?" She tauntingly took a picture of the group of splicers. "Smile!" One of them actually did, and then realizing her stupidity, stood at ready attention once again.

They paused stupidly for a bit until the same splicer wailed again: "Get it back!"

The mob opened fire into the apartment, their bullets shredding the bed and walls into ribbons of splintering wood. They fired for what seemed like minutes, and at last they giggled and guffawed as they pulled firebombs from their jackets and chucked them into the chaos.

The gunpowder settled and the melee splicers had finished bashing everything that moved in the ensuing dust. They all cheered as their eyes uneasily searched the lifeless room. The only sign of movement was some lone purple dust, already settling inconspicuously into the corners of the room.

Eleanor re-emerged from the shadows cast by the mainframe machine in Rapture Central Control. Sofia's blue-tinged face stared happily and uncannily from the genetic control scheme.

She yelled, "Thanks mom!" Before walking to the awaiting vessel floating in a pool of dark and murky water. The doors lay open like the mouth of a bronze venus fly trap. A golden light streamed welcomingly from the Bathysphere's ceiling and at the pressure of her foot on the royalty-like mahogany floors, the door silently floated shut like a specter.

Eleanor watched the depth markers falling rapidly. 90 Fathoms. She did some mental math in her head. 130 Fathoms. Discovering that she was falling at a rate half of gravity. 210 Fathoms. Then, once the number reached 300, the vessel was shot out of the building and into the oceans' currents.

She was among the underwater skyscrapers of Rapture. No light streamed from the sun, but electricity still coursed through the veins of the dead metropolis, illuminating the buildings with every pulse of arterial energy.

The warmth from immense glowing advertisements for various gene tonics was almost palpable. Black windows of the humongous buildings were light impenetrable. They seemed like titanic still insects with tilting square hunchbacks, waiting silently and hopefully motionless for prey like Eleanor's bathysphere. Wavering schools of various fish flew around shining like liquid knives and sharks nosed angrily around the crustacean embedded sands.

Behind the building she could see another skyscraper, its tower ended into a needle, pointing at the sky. It didn't pierce the top veil of the sea.

Hands pressed against the glass, Eleanor couldn't see where the saltwater ended and the oxygen began. There seemed to be a black film of oil where the ocean met the sky.

The bathysphere screamed painfully to life and the engines began to purr re-assuringly at her feet. Eleanor sat down, feeling her body pleasantly influenced back from the vessel's acceleration.

The ocean was olive green and deeper in, profoundly and beautifully blue. The velocity of the bathysphere sprayed white mineral particles and plankton over pristine and frictionless glass.

She closed her eyes and imagined the ghostly lights of the underwater skyscrapers fading gradually into the ocean's particle-filled oblivion. Underneath her eyelids she could see the sparking lights of Rapture advertisements and the popular giant squid which frequently landed on lights to warm itself.

She checked the compass (SW). She checked that the camera still worked by snapping a picture of her strange spherical helmet. She painstakingly pulled out the Atlas from her cramped belongings and lay it out in front of the large window. Lastly, she sat down cross-legged and stared out into an empty ocean for what seemed like a couple of hours before she got bored.

A wise man once said: "'Nothing ventured. Nothing gained'"

Eleanor lay down on the limber sofa of burgundy, let the currents lull her into dreamland, and made the obvious decision to visit the sun one more time.


	5. Orange Night

**1.) Took too long to get here, I'm converting to more dialogue and images than action now. Sorry! I've been extremely occupied with high school instead of this project.**

**2.) Inexcusable, I know and I'm sure nobody's actually keeping up, or actually thinking of the next chapter, but here it is.**

**3.) Random: Has anyone seen Toradora? It's highly recommended by me!**

"Pit-Pat-Pit-Pat-Pit-Pat-Pit-Pat"

Eleanor's skinny white feet flew over the white tiles of a blank hallway. Bewildered doctors still wearing their masks and scrubs looked on in amazement as their faces blurred into the pure doorways.

Running past a cart of supplies, she overturned it onto the ground. Chairs lined up against the wall, with a swipe of her hand, they shrieked across the floor and into her path. A graceful jump placed her well beyond the obstacles.

From behind her she could hear the gallop of executively black shoed men. They stopped and cursed as they tripped over the chairs and hypodermic needles. She didn't look back, but giggled like a child playing tag.

She had awoken cross-eyed into the barrel of a gun. They had asked a question in Portuguese and Russian: "Whose service?" And at that moment, she had panicked and dismantled the pistol by combusting the hand of her interrogator.

In retrospect, it had probably been a mistake - the guy sure was surprised. Her mind twitched with hilarity recalling his expression. Hopefully plasmids were well-known at the surface, otherwise she wished that they simply didn't believe what had happened.

Her right shoulder was a wet mess of crimson. The white hospital gown fluttered awkwardly about her knees like a specter's cloak as she ran. The floor was so smooth and sterile that if Eleanor stopped, her momentum could push her into a headfirst skid over the uncannily white floor.

Eleanor glanced back. Big mistake. There was a sickeningly thick trail of blood which had been transformed into brush strokes from her pounding feet upon a white linoleum floor which had been the canvass.

In the front, there were two large doors just ahead. The exit which she surmised was probably locked. Two minutes ago alarms had started blaring and a nonchalant voice at the intercom had called for a lockdown.

With a furious roar, she converted her motion into a horizontal slide. Behind her, she left behind cyclone traps and at the door, all while electrocuting the metal frame with twin snakes of blue lightning.

She looked back just in time to see one burly man in a black suit exploding into the white ceiling. The second one was about to stop, when he also stepped onto a cyclone and shot headfirst into the air conditioning.

Eleanor mustered a cough, as if she were laughing, as she pushed her way out of the hospital doors and into the glamorous night.

...

He was back home at his musty apartment, the dank scent of cigarette smoke still smeared on his fingers. Immediately he removed the white suit jacket with red stains on it and glanced up at the ceiling which was beginning to look as if a bowling ball had been thrown into it. He surmised that the landlady wouldn't be too happy when she was informed that the people upstairs had wild parties with jumping apparently the only dance move the guests knew. In reality, upstairs a middle-aged man of a sad middle-life crisis sagged in a chair, rearranging flowers for his clients.

Lenny sighed as he took off his burnt shoes, and unloaded the weapons from his person. From the corner of his eye, he could see a fateful parcel parked on the balcony. It hadn't been there when he left the apartment.

There were pictures in the box - photos of a girl with raven black hair. She looked curiously pale and on the brink of death, completely lifeless on a hospital bed. She was eerily beautiful like an ethereal ghost who was given physical form. Lenny turned the photos over in his hand. The text stated that she arrived by sea. Already, headquarters was calling her a spy, a cynical footnote on one of the pictures guessed "Natascha or Natalie? Babushka?"

But she was also dangerous and now a loose fugitive. An official statement: "Subject noted with pyrokinetics. Possible subject of experimentation. DO NOT approach." Lenny gazed out his window into the city alleys which were filled black by the night yet illuminated orange and given a tone of freshness from New York's light drizzle.

Miles away, a happy girl clad in ghostly white outside in a filthy alley, dashing from the direction of the hospital, suddenly stopped running.


End file.
